Brownie Points
by owlcroft
Summary: An accident under the net leads to better communication, with the help of a special recipe.


A/N: This story first appeared in "Trio for Three Wind Instruments", a STAR for Brian 'zine. Thanks again to all of you who supported our efforts and got Brian his long-overdue recognition!

BROWNIE POINTS

by

Owlcroft

Hardcastle felt the _crunch _jolt from his elbow straight up to his shoulder and knew immediately what had happened. He dropped the basketball and whirled to see McCormick sinking to his knees, hands masking his face. "Uh-oh," said the judge, and patted himself for a handkerchief.

McCormick moaned, blood already seeping between his fingers, and started rocking gently back and forth. "By doze, you broke by doze."

"Well, I didn't _mean _to. You just kinda walked into my elbow. Here," Hardcastle took hold of one of Mark's arms and tugged gently. "Get up and let's get you a towel or something."

"I can't believe you did dat." One teary eye peeped at the judge from behind rapidly reddening hands. "You _broke _by _doze_!"

Hardcastle pulled harder and got the younger man to his feet and pointed toward the gatehouse door. "I didn't do it on purpose, ya know. Come on, let's get ya cleaned up a little and we'll go in to the emergency room." He propelled Mark up the sidewalk and into the gatehouse. "And try not to drip on the carpet."

McCormick walked unsteadily into the bathroom, grabbed the closest towel, and held it to his face. "You broke by dab doze and all you're worried aboud is dat I don't drib on the carped." He glared at the judge from over the towel.

"I toldja I didn't mean to do it. It's not _my _fault you were trying to foul me!" Hardcastle glared right back, arms akimbo. "Now shut up and tilt your head back. I'll go get some ice."

"I wasn'd tryin' to foul you! You didn'd hab control and you _dew_ I was gonna reach for it." McCormick moaned again and leaned against the bathroom wall. "Here I ab goin' easy on you and you break by _doze_," he said bitterly, then straightened abruptly and shot a look at the judge. "I bean, uh, I wasn' goin' _easy _on you, I was, ah . . . oh, _dab_."

The judge stood there, looking at him soberly for a moment, then turned and went for the ice.

ooooo

The ride to the emergency room was accomplished in silence, except for an occasional moan from the passenger seat.

The ride back was even quieter. As the truck passed under the archway reading "Gull's Way", McCormick finally broke the silence. "Okay, look. I didn't mean I was really going easy on you. It was just something to say while I bled all over the place."

"Don't try to make it better," said the judge harshly. "I just want to know one thing. How long?"

McCormick sighed and shrugged. "I don't really know. I guess it was kinda gradual." He peered under his hand at the porch. "Who's that?"

Hardcastle glanced up and then parked the truck at the foot of the steps leading to the house. "Matilda Caldwell. Lives down the beach a bit."

"Well, yell at me after she's gone, okay?" Mark carefully exited the truck and smiled and nodded politely up at the elderly lady in front of the door.

The judge rounded the truck and greeted her as he trod up the steps. "Mrs. Caldwell. You know McCormick," he gestured back at Mark with a thumb.

"Oh, Judge, you're back just in time. Of course, I could have left these on your stoop, but I did want to thank you in person." The diminutive, gray-haired woman extended her hands to display a large batch of plastic-wrapped brownies. "It was so nice of you to take care of that easement for me. And I remembered how Nancy used to make brownies nearly every week, so when I saw these at the street fair in Venice, I thought of you at once." Mrs. Caldwell beamed at him and forced the brownies into his hands. "It's not much of a thank-you, but I hope you know how much all your help meant to me."

"Aw, it wasn't any big deal." The judge accepted the brownies reluctantly and shuffled his feet a bit. "I just filled out a few forms, that's all." He sniffed at the brownies appreciatively. "But this is real nice of ya, and I sure do appreciate it. Can you come in for some coffee and we'll make a start on these?"

"Oh, no, thank you anyway." Mrs. Caldwell patted him gently on the arm and turned to go. "I'm already a bit late for my yoga class. My goodness," she gazed at Mark's nose with great interest. "Did you run into something?"

"Yeah, an elbow," said Mark dryly.

Mrs. Caldwell stared at him for a moment, then patted his arm, too. "Well, stay away from them in future," she told him, and trotted off down the driveway.

"Here," said Hardcastle, pushing the brownies at McCormick. "You tote this into the kitchen for me. I'm feeling kinda frail and delicate." He pushed through the door and down the steps into the den without looking back.

Mark sighed, looked down at the brownies, and trudged down the hallway.

ooooo

After setting a pot of coffee on to brew, Mark arranged the brownies on a large plate. The plate, a handful of paper napkins and two coffee mugs went onto a tray and then he sat at the kitchen table to think.

_When __did__I start letting up on him? After we thought he had that blood thing, that he was gonna die? Maybe. I guess that was the first time I really thought about being here alone. _Mark looked around the kitchen, felt his nose gingerly, touched the new bump with great care, sighed. _Or maybe it was after he sprained his knee when I tripped him. Man, he hated using those crutches. Said it made him feel old! _Another sigh. _Now __I've__made him feel old. Terrific._

McCormick idly took up a brownie and sampled it. _So, what do I do now? Apologize? Say 'I didn't really mean it, Judge. I just said it 'cause my nose hurt'? Hey, _he looked down at the brownie in his hand, _these are really good._

He quickly polished it off and noticed that the coffee had finished dripping. _Might as well__ get it over with. Maybe if I let him yell for a bit, he won't feel old._

Tray in hand, he trekked down the hallway to the den, paused at the top of the steps leading downward and announced, "Afternoon snack."

The judge looked up at him. "You sure I don't need my nap first?" he asked grimly.

"Ho, ho," said McCormick. "These brownies are great. Here." He put one mug on the desk blotter in front of the judge and arranged two brownies on a paper napkin right next to it. "Try one." He stood back, waited for a response, got none. "Why, thank you. Don't mind if I do." He took two brownies for himself and settled into the wing chair at the corner of the desk.

"You sure people my age should have stuff like this?" Hardcastle glowered at him. "A geriatric specialist like you oughta take better care of my diet."

Mark swallowed a mouthful of brownie. "You're just gonna keep going on about this, aren't ya? Okay, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it and I shouldn't've said it. There, are you happy now?"

"No, I'm _not _happy now!" shouted the judge. "Do I _look _happy? No! I look _old_!" He subsided into his chair and wiped a hand across his chin. "Because I _am _old. It's no use you trying to apologize, either. You said what you did because your nose hurt--"

_Damn, he swiped my line. _McCormick took a swig of coffee and another bite of brownie.

"--and people tend to say what they really think when they're hurt, or excited, or upset. Give it up, McCormick. You said what you said and you meant it. I'll get over it. Now don't you have something better to do than to baby-sit an old man?" Hardcastle picked at one of the brownies in front of him and broke off a small corner.

Mark shook his head and stood up, grabbing his coffee mug and another brownie as he did so. "If you'd rather just sit here and wallow in whatever it is that you're wallowing in, that's fine with me. But you know damn well you could probably take on the defensive line of the Raiders and mop the floor with them." He went up the steps, then turned for a final remark. "You have a good time, sitting there . . . wallowing. _I'm _going to clean out the garage."

The judge glared at his back, then popped the morsel of brownie into his mouth and chewed slowly. "These _are_ good," he said in a surprised tone. He picked up the one he'd been playing with and took a large bite.

_Suppose I shouldn't've been so mad at the kid. It's not his fault I got old. _Hardcastle blew out a breath and shook his head morosely. He took a swallow of coffee and another bite of brownie. _When did that happen, anyway? I was doing just fine there for a long time . . .well, I guess that's the answer. I've been doing __everything__for a long time. Funny, though. I really didn't feel old 'til he said that. Maybe it's because I don't want him to think about my age. Hell, __I__don't want to think about my age._

He picked up his second brownie thoughtfully. _I never have thought much about aging. I just made plans for what I wanted to do when I had the time, and never thought I'd be old. But I'm not really all __that__ old. Look at Aunt May and Aunt Zora. Maybe those old saws are true. 'You're only as old as you feel', 'be young at heart', 'age is a state of mind'. _He finished up his coffee and a third brownie, trying to decide just how old he truly felt.

ooooo

Six o'clock came around and the judge could hear clattering from the kitchen. He checked his watch in surprise. "Huh. Good, I'm starving."

He wandered down the hallway to the kitchen door and leaned against the frame to watch McCormick trying not to drop a dozen eggs. "Whatcha making?"

Mark grinned at him. "Eggs." He held up the carton as proof. "You like eggs." He gazed at the carton owlishly. "_I _like eggs. So, I thought we'd have eggs."

"Eggs are good," Hardcastle grinned back at him. "Let's have eggs. I'll help."

"'Kay. You . . ." McCormick looked around for something the judge could tackle. "You make something to go with these good ol' eggs."

The judge clapped his hands together and did a little looking around himself. "Right! I'll fix some . . ." He checked inside a cabinet and emerged triumphantly. "We'll have some pretzels with the eggs!"

Mark nodded happily. "Good. I'm just gonna fry these up and we'll have eggs and pretzels."

"Sounds good here. I'll set the table." Hardcastle meandered over to the table and inspected it closely. "Need plates," he decided. "And forks."

"Hey, is frying okay, 'cause I could scramble these instead?" Mark took ten eggs out of the carton and looked them over. "In fact, scrambling might be better. You know, easier."

"Scrambling's fine, too." Hardcastle carefully set two plates and two forks on the table, then sat down to wait for dinner. "Ya know, I been thinking about stuff."

McCormick proceeded to break eggs into a skillet on the stovetop. "Oh, yeah? What kinda stuff? Whoops. Oh, well, a little shell never hurt anybody," he giggled.

"Important stuff," intoned the judge. "_Big _stuff. Life, the universe, and everything kinda stuff."

"So," Mark stirred the egg mixture together enthusiastically, "what did you think about all that stuff?"

"Well," Hardcastle rested his elbows on the table and leaned his chin on his hands. "I thought a lot about being old, and ya know what? It ain't all it's cracked up to be. Not that it's bad, ya see," he waved a hand nonchalantly. "But people start thinking ya oughta slow down or take it easy. Naps in the sunshine and collecting stamps. But growing old isn't for wimps, ya know. It takes a strong guy to . . . to . . . age gracefully."

McCormick stopped attacking the eggs momentarily to see if they were thoroughly mixed. Deciding they could use a little more combining, he started again. "So you're gonna age gracefully, huh? How're ya gonna do that?" He put down the assault fork and turned to face the judge.

"Hmm." Hardcastle rubbed his nose, considering, then realized Mark was staring at him with an angry expression. "What?"

"You broke my nose, you Arkansas donkey! And I forgot all about it!" McCormick was momentarily outraged. Then he smiled again. "So how're ya gonna age gracefully? Ballet lessons?"

Both men snickered at that.

McCormick dropped into a chair at the table and leaned back. "So, listen, Judge. You know I didn't mean to hurt your feelings or anything. About the basketball, I mean."

"Nah, I know that." The judge propped his head on one palm. "I guess it was just a surprise. I never noticed you easing up." He took a pretzel from the opened bag on the table.

"Well, it wasn't a whole lot, ya know. It was more like . . . like . . . not trying so hard." Mark reached across for a handful of pretzels. "I mean, I wasn't trying to not play hard. It was more like I was trying to not get hurt."

The judge looked puzzled. "Okay, I give up." He reached for another few pretzels. "You went easy on me so _you _wouldn't get hurt?"

McCormick got up to check on the eggs. "These are taking forever," he complained. Then, leaning a hip against the kitchen counter, he said, "Yeah, see, the harder I push you, the harder you push back. So, I figured maybe if I let up a little, you would, too." He beamed at the judge. "And it worked. At least, until this morning." He brushed a finger tenderly over the bridge of his nose. "The doctor says I'm gonna have two black eyes in the morning."

"You're gonna look like a raccoon," mumbled the judge through another pretzel. "So, you didn't really think I'm getting too old, huh? More like we're both getting too old?"

"Yeah, something like that. I'm no kid anymore, Judge. And neither are you." Mark shook the skillet a few times, then asked, "So, we're okay again? You're not mad any more?"

Hardcastle shook his head. "I'm not mad. And I'm not_old_, either." He grinned a lop-sided grin at McCormick. "You wouldn'ta let up if you hadn't been afraid we'd kill each other some day. And no old guy coulda busted your nose for ya. Hey, where're those eggs you promised me?"

"I don't know what's wrong with 'em." Mark tilted the skillet up so that the judge could see the raw mess within. "They shoulda been about ready by now . . . oh! Look!" He pointed at the burner control. "It's not turned on!"

They both laughed uproariously.

ooooo

"Frank! _You _get the last brownie!" McCormick motioned him into the hall and then pointed into the den. "Quick, before ol' Hardcase grabs it!"

"Brownie?" said Lieutenant Harper. "What brownie?"

"Frank!" repeated the judge, grinning. "C'mon in." He reached for the folder the lieutenant was carrying. "You need me to sign this, right?" He waved at a chair. "Yeah, you can have the last one. We were kinda arguing over who should get it."

McCormick proffered it to him with a gracious attitude. "Here ya go."

Harper took the brownie, resting on the little paper napkin. "One of you guys baked?"

"Nah, Mrs. What's-her-name brought 'em to us. Caldwell." Hardcastle handed back the folder and put his pen back on the desk. "Nice lady. Kinda scatty, but nice."

"_Real _nice," echoed Mark dreamily. "She brought us brownies, Frank. There's one left, but you can have it."

"Um, guys," said Harper carefully, eying the baked good in his hand, "do you know where this scatty lady _got _the brownies?"

"Yeah," said Mark. Then he looked puzzled for an instant and added, "No, I forgot. Where?"

"Wait a minute," Hardcastle held up a hand. "She told us that. Where was it?"

Frank suggested mildly, "Was it in Venice, maybe at a street fair?"

"Venice! That's it!" The judge beamed at him like a teacher at a prized pupil. "She got 'em at a street fair in Venice!"

"Great," muttered Frank. "I was gonna ask you two if you'd heard about the brownies that were sold at a street fair in Venice today, but I guess I don't hafta."

McCormick leaned over the back of Harper's chair. "How come?" he asked, grinning goofily.

"Because they were laced with marijuana and you both have all the symptoms of a really good high going." Frank put the brownie on the judge's desk and stood, dusting his hands. "I'll just go get a plastic bag for that and start some coffee going." He headed for the kitchen purposefully as the other two men stared at each other.

"Marijuana?" said the judge in surprise.

Mark shook his head. "Nah, we'd _know_."

"Sure we would," answered the judge. Then they both laughed some more.

ooooo

Hardcastle spread butter lavishly on his toast, then bit into it hungrily.

"Don't tell me you've still got the munchies," said Mark, pouring himself some juice. "_I _slept it off overnight."

"Nah, just a normal breakfast appetite." The judge washed down his toast with some coffee. "Ya know, I really don't remember a whole lot about last night. Except for some really runny scrambled eggs."

McCormick stared at him. "You mean that actually _happened_? I thought that was just some sort of, I dunno . . . delirium or something." He shuddered. "They were _awful_."

"I noticed you ate your share."

"Nobody's responsible for what they do when they're in that condition." Mark drank his juice. "So, you remember anything else about last night? Anything we talked about, I mean."

The judge reached for the plate of bacon. "I remember we both decided we were too old to be knocking each other unconscious playing b-ball."

Mark grinned at him. "So we're still okay?"

"Yep."

"So, how come you didn't show up this morning? I waited for you under the net."

Hardcastle frowned at him. "You got a broken nose. You really think you oughta be playing hoops?"

Mark shrugged. "You can only tell about my nose because of the black eyes, and I'm planning to tell everybody you punched me so they'll feel all sympathetic." He smiled suddenly. "I wonder if anybody'll bring me brownies."

finis


End file.
